


Love's the Stranger

by AbAbsurdo



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Suicide Attempt, if it wasn't illegal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbAbsurdo/pseuds/AbAbsurdo
Summary: A man leans over the edge and Richard is not going to let anyone die of stupidity on his birthday. Years later, when meets and falls head over toes for Thomas Barrow, he has forgotten most about that night.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 10
Kudos: 104





	Love's the Stranger

_“He was troubled; this brain, so limpid in its blindness, had lost its transparency; there was a cloud in this crystal.”_

Victor Hugo, _Les Misérables_

  
May 1924

The nightly chilliness was crispier than usual for this late in Spring. Richard tightened his coat around him as he strolled slowly by the deck.

Richard passed slowly down the Westminster Bridge, looking down to hide a smile. 

A man was leaning dangerously over the edge. Richard hastened his step and soon he was standing right next to him. It was dark enough that late an hour, and the night was chilly for this time of Spring. 

"Hello," said he, interrupting what seemed to be gloomy thoughts. His presence startled the stranger who in turn straightened his posture. A streetlamp was only a few feet away and the light from it illuminated the man's sickly countenance. Well, as much of the man’s face he could see with his newsboy cap tagged down hiding him. "Do you need any help?"

A strange combination of a smile and a rebuke formed on the stranger's lips, that would have been handsome had they not been so drawn. "No, thank you," and as a second thought, he added. "Kind of you."

The thought of leaving the man alone sent shivers down his spine. An image of the next day's papers and the news of a drowned man being pulled out of the dark waters of the Thames kept him rooted at his spot watching the other man carefully. He showed no signs of noticing Richard's presence. He slowly took his cigarette case and removed one with his gloved hand and lit a match. He inhaled deeply before he threw the burnt match in the water seemingly following with his eyes its course in the dark. He exhaled the smoke and took another drag of the cigarette while Richard watched the almost unwillingly erotic spectacle. 

Richard decided to give it another try and pull the man into a conversation. "What brings you here at this hour?"

The man turned to look at him, eyes hidden by the hat he was wearing, but a face as pale as the moon. "My father is sick. I thought to take a walk to clear my head." There was an accent, familiar to Richard, but he could not pint point the specific part of England it originated. 

"Ah. I'm sorry."

The hollow smile returned to the tired face. "No reason to be. People die. Every day. No one cares for more than a few days." 

"It's different for the family."

"Of course." The cigarette returned between the dark lips and Richard decided right there he could watch the repetition of that specific movement for hours. 

"Death is cold and lonely."

"We all going to die one day. We come alone. We live alone and then we leave alone," the stranger was staring at him, but Richard could not stare back. He felt heat creeping up his face.

"Was this what you had in mind when you came here?"

"This?" He took another drag on his cigarette, hollowing his cheeks waiting for Richard to reply. 

Richard gestured between the tall, lanky -even through the coat- frame of the man and the presumably cold waters of the Thames.

Another drag. "A good Samaritan then. You saw me standing here and thought to come between myself and Death, is that so?" Richard imagine a raised eyebrow questioning; the upturned lip made a mockery of his decency. At the same time, the way the mouth wrapped itself around the cigarette called out to him. If only he could see the eyes. 

If only he could leave him behind and get rid of the confused thoughts.

He went for honesty. He had a feeling it would be appreciated. "You were planning to fall?" He could see the shivers running through the man's body.

"What I thought to do is irrelevant. You thought I was." He bent his head and gazed the water. "The water's calm."

"You are not."

"Don't you think you take enough liberties with a complete stranger who just wants to smoke in peace?"

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Want to just smoke in peace? Do you even know what peace is?"

The sudden laughter startled him. "You are right. I don't."

"If you want to talk, talk. I won't judge."

"Everyone judges.” He took another drag and then crashed the butt with the sole of his shoe. “What are you doing at this hour here?"

Richard considered his answer. "It's my birthday."

"Well, not really an answer. Happy birthday then."

"And I'm thirty today.” And Richard didn’t know why he was sharing information with this stranger. He was a step away of inviting him to a hotel room. It would be a lovely last birthday gift. “My colleagues prepared a gathering for me, and then I thought to go for a walk."

"Good colleagues."

"I wouldn't go that far. But it was a nice day."

"Good for you."

“Not so good for you. With an ill father and being tired…” he raised his eyebrow calling out the deceit.

_Why did he think he could see through this man’s defenses when he could not even see his face clearly?_

“You assume too much, Sir.”

“My intuition has never led me astray.”

“That’s a difference between the two of us. My intuition has led me in a series of false beliefs which in turn made me look stupid with no integrity or dignity left. You have the better part of it.”

“I may have just saved your life too.”

“You think too much of yourself.”

“This is indeed true,” Richard saw with pleasure an honest smile forming in the chafed lips, pale on the outside, red as blood closer to the inside of the mouth contrasting the sickly paleness of the skin. Another cigarette had taken the place of its predecessor. "May I have a cigarette?”

The stranger let his cigarette between his lips and removed his case from his pocket keeping it open for Richard to take one. Richard had a few precious seconds to wonder if he would lean over to let him light his cigarette from the one in his mouth, only to be disappointed when he passed him the matches.

“Thank you.”

“Nothing’s too much for my saviour.”

A man passed by them and with a start, Richard realised they had been standing on the same spot for minutes. The man next to him returned his gaze to river dismissing him again. 

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Freezing. It’s as if no blood remains in my body. It has turned to ice.”

“This is descriptive. And educational too.”

“Snakes are cold blooded, but they can’t move in winter.”

“You are not a snake.”

The man snorted in amusement. “Many would disagree with your assessment there, and I’m likely to agree with them instead of you, if you permit it.”

“I’m not familiar with the snakes’ biology.”

“Neither am I. They represent the Devil in Christianity though, they slither on the ground, they bit and poison you, people are afraid of them.”

“And you think you resemble a snake?”

“When did I ever say that? No. Snakes resemble me.” 

“You don’t look like a man who likes to slither on the ground.”

“That’s because I don’t.” Richard could almost feel the man shudder at the thought. Or a memory of doing exactly that. “But I think you think people have to look like they’ve come out of a Dickens’ novel to be poisonous.”

“Did you drink your poison then?”

“What do you mean?” The half-hidden face turned back to stare at the dark waters of the Thames. Richard missed the warmth he could imagine in the so far unseen eyes. He was infatuated with the voice of a man whose face he hadn’t clearly seen. He’d never learn.

_You don’t look poisonous,_ he wanted to say, _you look as if you drank a cup of it though and it has shipped through your body making you sick_. He had to remind himself he didn’t really know the man and taking liberties didn’t always work at the best of his expectations. Not for a man like him. 

He was saved before he fumbled for a believable answer. 

The clouds in the dark sky had kept them company until now. Lightnings and thunders wracked the quietness of their company and soon large droplets of rain cascaded upon them. Richard grabbed the man's hand and pulled him to a protected pavement. 

A sudden jovial laughter made him look at his companion who was staring up at the rain letting Richard’s hand to take a step back under the shower. He threw away his cigarette butt.

Richard searched in his memories trying to remember the first meetings of the men he ended up with, short relationships or longer ones. If he could call them relationships. This man, this stranger with the hat covering half his face as he’d been hiding something or himself from people, and the wet cigarette still in his mouth reminded him of his first kiss; the elation, the joy, the feelings of being himself he shared with the boy in the Royal Stables, as cliché as it sounded. 

“Come here. You’ll get sick.” He pulled him back under the awning to wait for the rain to pass.

“I am sick already. A little rain won’t do much more harm.” Richard watched closely as he looked down at his own hands.

“Are you in pain?”

“What?” A snort. A pause. Thinking. And then, a confession aching in its sincerity. “For over a decade. I’m used to it.” He pulled his fob watch and tried to check the time. “I can’t see the time. Do you happen to know…?”

“Well, it was eleven when I saw you ready to take a dive…”

“I wasn’t… you know what? I wasn’t. Not really. But…” He looked at the other side, avoiding Richard’s gaze. “My Dad’s not ill either. I have no bloody idea if he is ill or not because I haven’t seen in fifteen years. But thank you.” He edged away from Richard. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me. And happy birthday.”

Richard saw him getting away with a pang. How much time had it passed? A quarter? Half an hour? He felt elated at the man’s presence. The moment Richard pulled him out of his misery kept playing in his mind. “Hey!” he called out to him who turned back and waited as Richard jogged to reach him.

“You alright now?”

“As alright as I can be,” his gaze goes back and forth, skittering around as if he thought he was being followed. 

And then, he left, leaving Richard there looking for him drifting away. 

Richard didn’t forget him easy. For months afterwards he wondered about the man whose name never got to know. In his loneliness, a few times went for a walk down the Westminster Bridge hoping he’d see him again. He never did. 

Months later, he couldn’t remember his voice and had forgotten bits of their conversation. The overall feeling of contentment following anxiety didn’t abate with time even if the event itself became a faint memory among others.

1927 onwards

When Richard met Downton Abbey’s younger than normal Butler, the Stranger -as he got to call him in his head- on the Bridge was a vague, oddly pleasant memory of a man who could have been but really wasn’t. In contrast, Mr. Barrow was there, healthy, handsome, tanned, and cheeky. A man after his heart albeit in a different way than the Stranger. A man who was there to begin with. By the end of his stay in the Abbey, and after a dangerously adventurous outing, he was certain he was interested in him too.

The man whom Mr. Barrow became for Richard in the years to come was a different one than the one Richard expected based on their first stepping out. For one thing, he was given no reason to be jealous of Thomas. And jealous he was, on principle, of that he was certain. Thomas just never gave him the opportunity to exercise that part of his personality.

Thomas Barrow was also extremely shy for reasons Richard could not comprehend. Richard’s attempts to get him to bed were initially rebuked. 

Thomas’ long fingered hands had cupped his face and kissed him with abandon the first time they found themselves alone. Progressing from the there was proven futile for the next three of their encounters. Thomas would sit next to him on the sofa, or behind him on the bed, resting his palms -both warm, one gloved- on Richard’s chest or collar bones and be content just to talk. 

The fourth time Richard found himself leaning back against Thomas’ chest, the other man’s legs spread to accommodate him, he took his left hand in his own. “May I?” he asked holding the glove. Thomas didn’t reply but nodded on top of Richard’s head. He gently removed the glove to see the scar marring the clear skin. “How did it happen?”

And Thomas told him. He spoke of fear and loneliness, heartache and terror, a will to live so strong even in the middle of brutal and senseless death. 

“As I saw his heart torn to pieces in front of me, I decided if I wanted to survive, I had to escape from there. By then, I had been on the front for two years, seen more death and amputations any person should see in their life. Men, strong and healthy one day being carried torn to pieces the next. I was losing my mind in agony. Death was not an enemy. It was the constricting feelings of a prison. I got up every morning believing it would be my last. I was spending my days crawling on the dirty ground carrying men who would not need my medical care. Most of the times, it was already too late.”

Richard brought the hand on his mouth and kissed every part of the palm, starting from the scar and moving to part untouched by the war and death. He kept it close to him mouth and let his breathing reverberate to him. “You are so strong.” This at least he did understand. He had felt it himself as well.

“I am not. I was not. But in the end, I was alive. Hating everyone who had died in my place and everyone who had survived fighting without cowardice.”

Richard turned around and leaned on his elbows, staring up at Thomas’ eyes. So beautiful, usually full of mischief they were now tormented by memories of the past, of harsh critiques of himself. “You did what you had to do to survive.” He leaned over bringing their lips together, sliding his over Thomas’, taking the lower lip inside his own, kissing his breath out of both of them. With a chaste peck he stared up at Thomas. Another kiss, “You survived and now I can kiss you,” he said between kisses, as Thomas’ unscarred hand cupped the nape of his neck. “Wanting to live is not a crime, sweetheart. You are a survivor.” 

That night, Richard discovered and uncovered a different Thomas who could both offer and receive pleasure. Richard had finally found his mate. Friendship was still there, they could still talk to each other, but their talks were leading up to more kissing, caressing and love making. 

And if Thomas insisted on keeping his shirt on, cuffs and all, Richard had no reason to object. He had to admit seeing the crispy clean, soap- smelling shirt open for Thomas’ chest naked for his eyes only had quickly turned into a turn on just as much as the dark hairs on the pale skin. 

  
1928

  
When his father died, Richard knew Thomas for a little over a year. Still, Thomas stood by his side. The pillar supporting the crumpling building. At the age of 34, Richard felt the loss of his father the same way a child would do. Orphan was a strong word for a grown man, and he was no Oliver Twist, but the world changed in a couple of days, becoming gloomier and sadder. Thomas was there, silent, and supportive, he was there to take his hand when he needed it, to offer a shoulder for Richard to rest his head, to dry the tears. He said nothing. Richard sometimes saw Thomas' tears and he wanted to ask, to probe and learn about stories Thomas kept hidden deep inside his memories and heart. 

When he brought himself to ask about Thomas’ father the answers weren’t as shocking as he might have guessed.

"You wouldn't want to know him."   
"The good thing of never having children is that I won't get to be like him."

"You'd be an excellent father," was a small consolation and a statement they both knew it could be either right or wrong. Thomas was good with children, Richard had witnessed it, but having his own child? That was a different matter.

.While he stood aside, seeing his father in a coffin being laid to rest underneath the earth he thought himself as a child with his Father at his side, teaching to ride a bike, telling him to love himself. He had been lucky to have a father who loved him more than society did, a father who put his child over society’s beliefs.

And there was Thomas, two steps behind him keeping guard, making sure Richard would not crumble down and crash as the past crept slowly close threatening to envelope him in pain and sadness over his loss.

When Richard saw Thomas holding his mother in his arms, whispering words of compassion, he knew it was him. Thomas was his present and future, the part of the family that was missing. That same night, before the aching loss took permanent residence in his soul, he held him tight, shedding tears on his shoulder and was held gently, broad palm on the back of his head, easy breathing underneath his chest lulling him in a dreamless sleep.

  
And if the way he smoked, rarely those days, was in an odd way, recongisably sensual, his brain made no connection to past, half-forgotten memories.

  
Now

  
When he actually sees what’s hidden under the shirt, it’s a negative surprise, not the first, but certainly the biggest. His Thomas becomes another man, another aspect comes to be added on the already complicated greatest love of Richard’s life. And he’s going to grab him tight and make sure Thomas will never. Leave. Him. 

  
It starts as nicely as every other time. They spend the evening talking and the night with affection and love. Richard is content the next morning, still early. Thomas opens his eyes and lets the peace wash over him before he stretches on the bed. He turns to see Richard and finds him on his side leaning on his elbow staring at him. He smiles. "What are you staring at?"  
"You.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful and I enjoy looking at you, all day long.” He’s rewarded by an embarrassed smile, the one he loves seeing in his usually confident partner. “I have something for you.”

He reaches under his pillow and takes out a small box he bought three months earlier with the intention of giving it to Thomas. He takes Thomas’ right hand in his and bring it to his mouth to kiss the lifeline on the palm. He takes out the golden band with his initial on the inside and glances at Thomas, heat rising on his cheeks. “If I could marry you, I would. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Thomas pale cheeks turn rosy. “Will you have me?”

Thomas’ long fingers take the ring from his hand and hold it carefully, gently as something unique and precious, same way he had held Richard the night before. He closes his fingers around it, his eyes misty and oh-so beautiful. He places it on the white pillow next to Richard’s head. “I have had you for years now, and you have had me for just as long. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, yes.” He leans over and lets his lips, chafed and red, linger on Richard’s cheek. And he sits up, resting his upper body on the headboard staring in front of him. His left hand goes to his pajama sleeve and unbuttons it. 

“It’s not been long that I have been unhappy with life, with people and with myself.” 

Richard sees the white scar on the otherwise unblemished wrist. He imagines the identical one on the other wrist, accompanying the scar from the war. His mind cannot wrap itself around the new information. His Thomas, the man willing to ruin parts of his body as a price for his life, for his survival, was brought to believe his life was unworthy. 

“Phyllis found me. She saved me. I don’t know why. I had been awful to her despite her best efforts to reclaim my friendship. I loathed her and her kindness. I believed she owed me. And then she saved me, and I hated her more, because how dare she?” 

Richard’s hand wraps itself around the strong wrist, thumb caressing gently the scar in a futile attempt to remove the stiffness being there long Thomas was his. 

“I was asked to find a new job elsewhere, no one wanted me here, I was unnecessary. No one needed me elsewhere. I had no friends, I had no love, I had nothing but a broken heart, fear and horrid memories. At the time, it seemed the only solution. It took a long time to realise I had options. To find a long lost confidence. Longer to remember how to love myself. It was after I met you that contentment was a constant in my life. For the first time.”

Richard feels a lump in his throat, his mouth is dry. 

He could have lost Thomas before even meeting him. 

Why is Thomas sharing it now? Does he even want to know?

“If I put this ring on my finger,” there’s a chain Richard has purchased as well, so the ring will more often rest on Thomas’ chest instead of his finger, but he will tell him that later. “If I tell you I accepted your proposal years before you made it, then I have to tell you this. You have to know before you ask to share your life with mine.”

“The only thing I know is Ms. Baxter getting flowers for making it possible to have you in my life.”

Thomas nods and takes the ring from the pillow. He offers it to Richard and gives him the honour of slipping it on his finger. Richard straddles his hips and leans down to kiss him. 

“So, where is yours?” 

The laughter babbles up his throat fighting momentarily with the anxiety of a hidden question. How well does he know Thomas?

All he knows, all he’s certain about is that his Thomas will not willingly leave him, the scar is but a painful memory of a despairing past, making their future brighter. “I feel as if I owe Phyllis my happiness,” he whispers against Thomas’ lips. 

Thomas arms wrap around his waist and pull him down to rest on the strong, muscled body. “Phyllis wouldn’t have me to save if someone else hadn’t saved me first.”

Richard’s blood turns cold despite the warmth from Thomas’ body permeating him through their clothes. 

“Honestly, that first time I hadn’t thought to end my life, as awful as everything seemed back then. I was in pain and walking aimlessly in the dark can play horrible games inside your head.”

And Thomas tells a story Richard already knows. Of a cold night in May years ago when he met a man and thought he had saved his life. He gets to other side of the coin by Thomas’ eyes and it’s darker than his, filled with pain and desperation, self-loathing and weakness. The chest beneath him rises and falls and the voice gets softer and quieter the more Thomas speaks. He finds himself back on the Bridge smoking a cigarette, the smell of the rain on the murky waters of Thames, the pale, half hidden face.   
The feelings and longing. That now turn into despair, loneliness, inability to be love and be loved. He hears the words and feels Thomas’ solitude.

The kiss on his head returns him to present.

“I didn’t plan to take a dive than night, but if you hadn’t been there, I might have had.” 

“You knew it was me?”

“You are not easy to forget, Mr. Ellis.”

“I hadn’t really seen your face.”

“I know. It was deliberate.”

Richard takes Thomas’ hand and slips his fingers through Thomas’. He gets a gentle squeeze in reply. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Richard rests his head on Thomas’ shoulder thinking. Now, his Stranger has a face, but it’s a face he never wants to see on his Thomas.   


**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Warhaus' " Love's A Stranger"


End file.
